Текст книги "Kiss the Sky"
Автор книги: Becca Ritchie
Соавторы: Krista Ritchie
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
[ 4 ]
CONNOR COBALT
Well, I learned what increasing the production value entails.
Here’s a new one for me.
Scott Van Wright somehow manipulated my girlfriend into moving out of her sanctuary, leaving our Princeton house. I really wish I had been there for the conversation and not been stuck in a college lecture hall. I would have rebutted every argument he had that began with “The Real World” and ended with “you’re all living together.”
We all lived together in Princeton, New Jersey.
The difference now: Loren Hale’s half-brother, Ryke Meadows, is moving in for six months. So is Rose’s little sister, Daisy. That’s six people in one house.
I’m trying to be the encouraging boyfriend, but I can’t be at fault for however I act around Scott. I don’t like that he convinced Rose to do something that I would have trouble talking her into. It makes me nervous.
Rose stares up at the open ceiling, microphones and wires dangling from the rafters of our new home. Her forehead scrunches at having to live in a Philadelphia townhouse designed especially for production. Three levels. Five bedrooms. One communal bathroom. No yard. A nice hot tub and patio area. And an even larger dining room and kitchen.
“He promised we wouldn’t be filmed in the bathroom or the bedrooms,” she says with tight lips.
“Promises from anyone other than me mean nothing,” I say. “Has he hit you over the head?”
She glares. “It’s in the contract.”
“Then Lo and I will make sure there aren’t any cameras in the rooms.”
“And the bathroom,” she says quickly.
“That too.”
She nods to herself and raises her chin to appear more confident about the matter, but privacy means a great deal to Rose. And this is a lot more intrusive than she anticipated.
“You can always tell him to fuck off,” I remind her. “You’ve said it to men many times before.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
I smile. True.
She lets out a breath. “No. It has to be done this way.”
“And why is that?”
“He said that there’ll be more viewers if we all live together. Rich families being filmed in their natural environment has been done before. This hasn’t.” She pauses. “Except for The Real World but—”
“All I hear is Scott Van Wright in your mouth, and that’s really the last place I want another man to be.”
She gives me a cold look and says, “I happen to agree with him. I did the research.”
“Fine.” But what Scott really wants is the most drama possible, the most chaos, and this is the type of setting that’ll grant him what he desires. And if Rose is a part of that package, he’s going to fucking lose this battle. I just don’t want it to be at the cost of Rose’s fashion line. If I ruin Calloway Couture, I’ll lose her too. Her company is why we’re swimming in a fish bowl after all. I’d do almost anything to help her achieve her dreams.
“Plus,” she adds, only to provoke me, “our house had poor sound quality. We would’ve had to move anyway.”
“Right, because they couldn’t spend a couple thousand dollars to rig better equipment at Princeton. This alternative, moving out, is a hell of a lot more expensive.”
“You’re turning green. And for your information, you look ugly in that color.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say. “I hate him for the same reason you do—because he pisses where he eats.”
“You haven’t even met him yet.”
“I already know.”
She flattens her black maxi dress with her hands, walking back and forth in the living room space. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You’re pacing. What other things should we point out?”
She hits me with her handbag, and I try hard not to grin.
When she settles down, she says, “After six months, we can go back to Princeton.”
She can keep listing off the reasons why the move to Philadelphia is better—that her parents live close by, that Daisy can still attend prep school, that Lo’s comic book business is already downtown, that my commute to Penn has been shortened by an hour—but in the end, she wasn’t given a choice. Scott told her to move. And she did.
Not even that, he chose this townhouse. He didn’t let Rose look for a new place that would fit production’s ridiculous requirements.
I glance at the purple fringe cloth that covers the coffee table, large white candles lined in a row. Production actually hired people to decorate for the psychic’s arrival. As though she’s living here too.
“Just don’t ask me to be nice to the psychic,” I tell her, just now noticing Ben, the skinny cameraman, walk down the stairs. He directs the lens at us.
“I don’t care what you do,” she says, “as long as you’re here.”
I try not to look shocked by her declaration. Our tight postures relax, and I draw her to my chest and rub the back of her neck. She melts into me, her normally stiff body finding a moment to slacken. I stare at her fiery eyes that never seem to soften, even if her body does.
“But I thought you could do everything by yourself, darling.”
“I can,” she says, raising her chin again. “But I like your help…sometimes.” Her gaze falls to my lips, unsure of herself again. She’s waiting for me to make a move.
My lips brush her cheek. “I’m going to spread you so wide, Rose. Your whole body will ache for my hard cock.” She tightens against me. “You’ll come before I fill every inch of you.”
A noise catches in her throat, and her hands drop to my waist, hurriedly feeling around for my battery pack to the microphones we wear beneath our clothes.
“Forget about the cameras,” I tell her. Ben takes this moment to skirt around us, the camera whipping towards Rose’s face. He’s another obstacle, a puppet of Scott’s. Just fucking wonderful. I could shove the camera at the wall, but I resist the violent urge.
I bring my hand to the back of her head, my lips right beside her ear. “You saw how big I am. Imagine that inside of you, all of it, pounding hard until you can’t breathe.”
“Connor,” she warns, her voice weaker than normal.
I grip her hair between my fingers and tug, her chin jutting up.
Her mouth opens, and she stifles a sound that wants to come out.
With one hand to the small of her back, I push her body harder against mine, and her cheeks flush.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” I whisper lowly in her ear. “I may not always be on your side, but I have your best interest at heart.”
When I release her, she withdraws, taking two steps back and clearing her throat. She readjusts her handbag on her arm and then says, “I don’t think I can forgive him for that bathroom.”
She completely drops what just happened. And Scott is the last person I want her to divert to after I just talked about fucking her hard.
“To be fair to Scott,” I say with a dry smile, “the bathroom has four sinks and two showers. It’s not as if it’s small. Each shower is even large enough to fit five co-eds.”
“It’s communal. I don’t know how they did it at Penn, but I had my own bathroom, shared with one other girl.”
“Yes, we’re all savages at Penn. You should see the football team. They live in caves and eat with their hands.”
Her shoulders fall. “I know I’m spoiled and a bitch, but I’m uncomfortable at the idea of someone walking in on me.”
“The showers have misted glass. You can’t see through them.” That’s not entirely true. I’d be able to see her body fairly well. “And you walked in on me three days ago.” The mention of our moment in the bathroom—where she found me masturbating, where I hiked her leg around my waist—has her whole body tensing in arousal. She crosses her arms to cover the flush that rises on her neck. Only the mention of her sex life (or lack thereof) can make her so flustered.
“This is different.”
“I know.” Lo, Lily, Daisy, and Ryke will be sharing the space too. Adding me was like skipping two stairs at a time for her. With them, it’s like trying to stretch over five. “But everyone’s uncomfortable, not just you.”
She groans in distress. “I didn’t want to put them in this situation. The reality show wasn’t supposed to uproot their lives like this.”
I usually say the right thing. I’m obviously doing a shitty job today. The psychic and Scott have scrambled my head.
I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Lily wants to help Calloway Couture. She’d do anything for you. And they’ll all adapt quickly.” To make amends with Rose, Lily even sacrificed being close to her college. She’ll be taking online classes so she doesn’t fall behind.
Rose stops pacing with my touch. Ben documents her reaction with the zoom of his camera. She stares up into my blue eyes and leans close, her leg pressed against mine.
I comb her glossy hair away from her cheeks, and her arms cling to my waist. I ask, “Are you going to talk about Scott when I kiss you from now on? Or is it only going to be when we have sex?”
She clenches my button-down, fisting the fabric, and tries to throttle me for that comment, but I stay unmoving at her attempt, too strong to be overpowered by her, even if she puts up a good fight. With a huff, she stops trying to shake me. “One day,” she says, “I’m going to slap you on impulse, and then I’m going to feel like utter shit.” I read her eyes that say: maybe we should break up before it happens. Maybe we’re not good together.
“You won’t feel like shit,” I tell her, “because I’ll punish you for it.”
Her lips slowly part. “You’ll punish me?” She chokes on a laugh. “In what way?”
“Just trust me when I tell you that you’ll love it.”
She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I don’t see how I could love a punishment.”
“It won’t be like detention in prep school, Rose.” Remember, I have your best interest at heart.
She inhales deeply and she stares at my lips again, silently asking me to come a little closer. Just as I go to kiss her, a jingling sound echoes through the open kitchen that’s in sight of the living room. No walls between any of them.
Sadie, my orange tabby cat, pads over to us, the bells on her collar clinking together. Rose spent an hour wrestling my cat just to put the thing on her while I was in class. She wants to know Sadie’s location so she can avoid her. My cat scratches women fairly often. She’s not fond of the times I locked her up for a date. But just for snapping on a collar, Rose had cuts all along her arms for a week.
I was about to sell Sadie after that, but Rose refused to let the cat leave. I appreciate her for trying to put up with my pet, but I don’t want to find her bleeding like that ever again.
Rose lets out a horrified gasp. “We have rats!” She disentangles from my arms completely.
She’s not frightened so much as disgusted by the rodent hanging out of Sadie’s mouth.
I rub my lips to hide my smile. “Sadie hunts like a champion.” I wink.
Rose plants her hands on her hips and stares at me like really? “You just winked at her.” Rose’s glare turns into a laugh, but when she looks back at Sadie, her face falls again. “It’s bleeding…oh my God.” Sadie drops the rat on the hardwood. “No, no…”
“You’re fine,” I say, setting my hands on her shoulders. “Breathe.” Rose is obsessive compulsive—a trait that has gotten out of hand since the paparazzi have clung to the Calloway family.
She blows out a long breath. “I can’t cohabitate with rodents.” She pauses. “That’s a lie. I’ve lived with Loren for nine months, but I draw the line right here.”
“So then we’ll move back to Princeton.” Win for me. Fuck you, Scott.
She shakes her head slowly. “No, no…I’ll just have to deal with this. It’ll be okay.”
Fine. “Lo, Ryke, and I can set rat traps tomorrow.” But I add this just to rile her, “The perks of having three men living under one roof.”
Contempt crosses her face. “Lily, Daisy and I are more than capable of doing it.” But she breathes a little easier at the idea of three guys living here. It’s appealing to not be in control all the time. Well, for her, not me.
“By all means,” I say, “set them yourself. I fully appreciate female power.” I step nearer, closing the space between us. “But you’re going to have to put them in dusty, dirty…” I wrap my arm around her hip. “…places.” I slide my hand to her neck and my thumb brushes her lower lip.
She inhales again, remembering where I put my thumb three days ago.
Ben silently films us, but I sense his unwanted presence. My thumb lingers on her soft, wet lip. Fuck the camera.
I’m about to push my thumb into her mouth once more, but the front door bursts open.
She pushes off me almost instantly, retreating in her head, realizing who and what surrounds us. I wear my complacent expression, even if I’m highly fucking irritated at whoever ultimately barged through the door.
I see his blond hair first, and my irritation escalates to new volatile levels. I’m already an egotistical ass. I’m afraid I’m about to become the villain of this reality show.
Right now, I don’t particularly give a shit.
“Look, another rodent,” I say to Rose.
She smacks my chest, but she’s smiling.
Scott saunters inside like he owns the townhouse. I’m sure the lease is in his production company’s name. Next thing, he’ll try to stamp Van Wright all over my girlfriend.
“Where is everyone?” he asks, extending his arms. “The psychic will be here in five minutes.” I fixate on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
I don’t like assuming things, but if there are clothes, a toothbrush and a change of underwear in his bag—we’re going to have a major fucking problem.
Rose squeezes my arm.
I’m wearing my anger.
That happens—never.
“They’re all settling into their new bedrooms,” Rose tells him. She eyes the duffel. “Traveling somewhere, Scott? Hopefully to California where you’re actually needed.”
When he faces my girlfriend, he’s not pissed at her insult. No. He smiles. His gaze even lingers on her lips—the ones that I just touched. “I’m needed here,” he tells her. “It just takes people time to realize what’s good for them.” He gives Rose a long once-over, and my blood begins to boil. “Nice dress, but you could lower the neckline. Showing your tits would increase the ratings.”
“So would shoving my foot up your ass,” she retorts.
My lips rise.
So do Scott’s.
“Just trying to help,” he says smoothly. “I do have a question though. If your sisters are wearing your collection on screen, does this mean they’re going to be entering a nunnery too?”
She growls and tries to charge him.
I seize her around the waist, holding her back. I hate that he incenses her like this. That’s my fucking role.
My lips find her ear. “You’re giving him what he wants.”
“He’s insulting my line.”
It’s like calling her child stupid. I understand the blow. “Your clothes are perfect, Rose. They’re not as modest as he believes. Women will buy them.”
My words instantly calm her, and she relaxes against me. I hold her while Scott waves Ben towards us. And then I meet his gaze. “So,” I say, “you’re moving in.”
It’s a guess.
But it becomes fact as soon as he tosses the duffel bag onto the floor. “I am.”
Rose balks.
“What did production want this time?” I ask. “A misogynist? A natural blond?”
“A love triangle,” he deadpans.
Rose’s cheeks concave as if she’s attempting to suck in all the air from the room. She points her finger at Scott, the red nail polish threatening and incredibly sexy. “If you try to break up Lily and Loren, I will gut you from the inside out.”
No, Rose. He wants you.
His arousal practically swims in his eyes as he watches her tell him off. “I’m not here to break up anyone. I’ll be introduced in the show as your ex-boyfriend. We dated for a few years in college but decided to amicably break up when your fashion line absorbed all your time. I like my women to be…attentive. We’re still friends, despite your love to harass the shit out of me.”
I let go of Rose and take a step forward. “We haven’t formally met,” I say, holding out my hand. “I’m Connor Cobalt. The guy whose girlfriend you want to fuck. And just so you understand, the odds don’t look good for you.”
He shakes my hand, and I grip him so tight that he struggles to hide a wince. “You’re threatened by me,” he states, not breaking eye contact. “I’m twenty-eight, and you’re—”
I hate ages. “Twenty-four years smarter than you.” I tilt my head. “And in ten years I’ll be thirty-four years smarter than you. See how this works?”
Rose steps between us, hands outstretched like she’s protecting us from each other. But I just want to protect her from him. “All right. Put your cocks away. I’ve seen enough of them.”
We both look down at her with the same desire.
“You haven’t even seen mine,” Scott says with curved lips.
Is he serious? “I assure you, you’ve pulled out your cock,” I tell him.
“Stop. Both of you,” she says, her chest rising in her dress, her breasts more apparent, even with the high neckline. This, interjecting herself in the middle of a fight, even tame, causes my dick to throb. I struggle not to pull her into my chest, away from Scott and his lingering gaze. She wouldn’t appreciate me claiming her. But if he’s going to try to take her from me—there’s only so long I can withhold from doing so.
Anyway, I don’t think she’d appreciate another girl hitting on me this way. In fact, I’m almost certain she’d rip her to shreds and grab me.
Rose spins towards Scott. “You’re the executive producer.”
“Yes?”
“So you’re in charge of production. You make the rules. So you can leave.”
“Yes, but I also have the network breathing down my neck. GBA expects certain things from Princesses of Philly when I pitched the show to them. My placement in the house was a promise I made.”
He’s planned this for that long?
Maybe he’s smarter than I thought.
Rose fumes. “If the network wants you here, then fine. But the moment I think you’re fucking with my friends and their relationships, even mine, you’re gone. My company isn’t worth hurting everyone I care about.”
“Okay,” Scott says evenly. “But I can’t be held accountable for your feelings, Rose. If you end up liking me, that’s completely out of my control.”
Well, he’s still the douchebag I thought he was.
Rose snorts and backs up into my chest. It’s intentional. And I could kiss her for it. Instead, I wrap my arm protectively around her collar, and she clutches onto me.
“I’d rather burn,” she tells him.
Scott just smiles and motions to Ben who’s filmed the entire scene. “Get everyone in this fucking living room. We have a psychic segment to shoot.”
Game on.
[ 5 ]
ROSE CALLOWAY
“He’s cute,” Daisy says, appraising Scott from the kitchen. The main level of the townhouse is all one open space, so we have a direct view of the four guys in the living room, sitting on various pieces of leather furniture. The frizzy-haired psychic is on the ottoman, shuffling her Tarot cards.
Lily and I give our youngest sister a long stare. Mine contains a strong warning, but Lily looks more confused, like a puppy wandering the side of a road. I’d only stop to help a sad dog if they shared my genetics. Cruel, maybe. But survival of the fucking fittest. Blood is thicker than water. Choke on all of those clichés. They’re true.
Daisy adds, “I mean, if you’re into the whole blond, scruffy alpha-male vibe.” She bites into a carrot with a crooked grin.
“You mean if you’re into the whole domineering, jackass vibe,” I refute.
“Or that,” she says. “But no offense, Ryke is more of the jackass.” She says it with an even larger smile. Yes, she’s friends with Loren’s brother, who happens to be twenty-three. It’d be stranger if she didn’t hang around high fashion models older than even him.
My two sisters and I have excused ourselves from the palm reading to replenish on pizza and drinks. But really, I wanted to leave the guys to grill the producer…or rather—my fake ex-boyfriend. I internally gag every time I think of Scott and boyfriend in the same sentence. He’s put this disgusting chili pepper and pickle taste in my mouth. And for anyone who finds that combination pleasant, I’ll give you Scott’s number. He’s all yours.
I watch Connor and Scott’s tense conversation as they share the same couch. They both sit tall, silently establishing their dominance, but a good amount of space separates them.
On a plush chair, Ryke observes our producer with a dark scowl but is smart to stay quiet.
However, Lo constantly interjects, sitting on the loveseat. And while the other guys keep their voices low, I can hear his heated retorts from the kitchen. He gesticulates with his hands, pointing at Scott more than once.
“I think they’re all assholes,” I say matter-of-factly. “Some just have more redeeming qualities than others.” Kind of like us. I’m not the most likable girl in the world.
Savannah, the redheaded camerawoman, stands beside the oven. She’s around our age and wears a skull and crossbones bandana over her braids. She focuses the camera on Lily, which is not good. My twenty-one-year-old sister is the only person who has trouble not looking into the lens.
“I don’t like Scott,” Lily says, her eyes flickering to the camera with each word. She nears Daisy and cups her hand around her mouth to whisper. “He stared at your boobs for like a whole minute.”
Daisy shrugs and climbs on the counter, swinging her long legs. Her dyed blonde hair drapes to her waist. She’d cut it if her new modeling agency would let her. “There are photographs of me in my underwear,” she says (too casually). She pops a piece of broccoli in her mouth from a vegetable tray. “When guys read the magazines, they could be doing more than staring at my boobs.”
Lily flushes red in embarrassment.
Daisy frowns in confusion and then she laughs lightly. “You used to jack off to mags? That’s fucking awesome, Lil.”
I suck in a sharp breath, worried by my little sister’s lack of filter in front of the cameras. But I don’t scold Daisy for her bluntness. I don’t want to make it seem like female masturbation is a bad thing. I wholeheartedly approve, but Lily is a recovering sex addict who has been known to compulsively delve into self-love and porn, abusing both. Those days are over for her. They have been for months.
“I don’t think girls can jack off,” Lily tells her, collecting her bearings. She tries to act more confident, straightening up.
Daisy swings her legs, hitting the cabinets below with her high laced boots. I would care more about scratching the wood if this was my house. But it’s practically Scott’s. So scuff away, Daisy. “You’re totally right.” She nods. “I guess it would be like rubbing one out?”
“Girls can jill off,” Lily says.
“What?” Daisy and I say in unison.
“You know…” Lily turns bright red again, only her flush looks like an allergic reaction. Red splotches her arms and neck. Her eyes flit to the camera and then back to us. “Jack and Jill went up the hill. Guys can jack off. Girls can jill off.”
Daisy cracks up laughing, hitting her leg with each full-bellied sound. “Holy shit…That’s awesome.”
I smile too. I love my sisters for so many different reasons.
I slide a piece of pizza out of the box with a napkin. “You’re sixteen,” I say to Daisy. “Men shouldn’t be thinking about screwing you while they look at your photos. They should know better.”
“I’ll be seventeen in a month,” she says. “And it probably happened to Brooke Shields, so…” She shrugs like that makes it okay. It doesn’t. No one likes that they’re calling Daisy a sex symbol in the media just because Lily is a sex addict. Daisy was only a high fashion model before all the publicity, in background shots, a few small campaigns. Nothing big. Now she’s a supermodel, posing more suggestively, wearing less and less clothes.
I don’t even want to think about what will happen when she turns eighteen.
When she can legally pose nude.
I wish she would care more, but she entered the modeling industry at such a young age that I’m not sure she’ll ever see her body as something other than an object to the male gaze.
“Girls!” Scott calls. “We only have the psychic for another half hour. You need to come back.”
We shuffle out of the kitchen and into the living room, pizza and drinks in hand. I pass Connor the plate he requested and sit beside him, which happens to also be next to Scott. I’d kick Scott somewhere else but I don’t want to put him next to Lily (a sex addict with a stable boyfriend) or Daisy (a sixteen-year-old high fashion model with impulse issues). Seriously, my little sister dove off a forty-foot cliff in Mexico.
I wish I was exaggerating.
Lily slumps beside Loren on the loveseat, and he pulls her a lot closer so her legs are over his lap, splayed across him. She leans into his chest as she picks the pepperoni off her pizza.
“Do me next,” Daisy says with a roguish grin, plopping on the floor. She leans against the legs of Ryke’s chair and holds out her hand to Madame Charmaine. The psychic’s peppered hair is so thick and frizzy, like she brushed her curls. Sun spots even mar her skin.
Ryke has kicked up his feet on my cedar coffee table that was transported from the Princeton house. At least there’s that ugly purple tablecloth on top.
But I can’t restrain myself from saying something. “Ryke, I can see the mud on your boots.”
His brows rise and he runs a hand through his brown hair. His features are harder and more brooding than Loren’s, but he has the same lean and muscular build. Not bulky but incredibly fit. He nods to his brother. “Please tell me this isn’t a regular fucking thing with her.”
“Oh yeah.” Loren steals the pepperoni off Lily’s plate and pops one in his mouth. “Don’t leave the toilet seat up unless you want a ten minute lecture.”
“It’s called respect,” I retort.
Lily raises her hand. “I agree with Rose.”
Ha! Take that, Loren.
But he ignores me and playfully bites Lily’s neck. Her face lights up in a giddy smile.
My achievement is popped in an instant. I just feel…strange at being thwarted by Lily and Lo’s constant blinding love. Instead of being agitated by their in-the-face groping, I’m a little more aware of what I have. I turn to Connor, and for some reason, I can tell he’s been watching me, studying me, understanding everything. I trace his features: the smoothness of his unblemished skin, the waviness of his brown hair, and the curve of his muscles in his arms and chest, beneath a sophisticated button-down and behind those all-knowing blue eyes.
He is power and perfection in so many ways that I will never admit aloud. His head would be humongous by the fact. But when I was younger, I often thought about what it would be like to be with him, physically.
I was sixteen when I first pictured Connor inside of me, and the most contact I had with him was verbally fighting at Model UN Conferences. Literally, we’d stand in the hallways of a fancy hotel and argue about Epicurus and his philosophy on intangible things like love, happiness and God. Once Connor went off on a tangent in French, I tried to keep up. I vowed to be better than him. And so I studied harder. I opened more books. I made sure I was fluent enough to understand him and then more—to stump him. I never did, but I also never fell behind.
I am smart only because I spent hours reading. Connor is smart because he’s naturally gifted, but he does study harder than even the average person. I envy him—that he can carry all of these talents and never be weighed down by setbacks and hardships. He just keeps moving forward.
He makes me believe that anything is possible. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone quite like Connor Cobalt.
He places a hand on my neck and his thumb rubs a sensitive place that sends chills down my spine.
I’m glad to have him, even if I was fine with being alone and single beforehand. How we came to this place still feels like a cosmic alignment. Out of the blue, I learned he was Lily’s economics tutor at the University of Pennsylvania. It wasn’t a ruse to get closer to me. He had no idea she was my sister at first, and Lily chose him at random. At the time, Connor and I only saw each other once a year when Princeton and Penn competed in a Quiz Bowl Tournament, and this was a chance for him to meet me more often. For us to reunite.
And Connor’s never been one to squander an opportunity.
So when he saw me at Lily’s old apartment, he asked me on a date. I said yes because he was challenging me to step out of my comfort zone, as he’s done all these years. I wonder if having sex will be the day where everything ends, where our journey of losing and finding each other will finally come to a close.
I turn back to Ryke who has not moved his boots. I make sure that he meets my glare.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Look, if we’re going to live together then we need to establish some fucking rules.”
Madame Charmaine cuts into our discussion. “You’re single now but you will find someone very soon,” she tells Daisy.
“Well that’s not right,” Daisy says, the cameras rotating to her. “I already have a boyfriend.”
Ryke’s boots finally fall to the floor. “Since when?”
“Since last week.”
Madame Charmaine holds up a finger. “Aha!” she exclaims. “Soon. Very soon.”
“So soon that the events have already happened,” Connor says. “Are we changing the definition of precognition today? Shall I call Merriam-Webster?”
Lo breaks into a grin. “You’re nasty today, Connor.”
“I have a limit on bullshit. Magic tips the scale.”
“It’s not magic,” Madame Charmaine rebuts with ease. “I have the sight.”
Connor pauses. “…like I was saying.”
“Why haven’t any of us met your boyfriend?” I ask Daisy, trying to steer this to a better direction, one that doesn’t make Connor look like a bigger prick than he really is. But I have a feeling Scott will edit him in the worst light no matter what.
Before she answers, Ryke whispers in her ear, and they both suddenly stand at the same time. We’re all on edge until Ryke sits on the floor, taking her spot, and she settles in his chair, her legs crossed underneath her.
Ryke has his nice moments. I’ll admit that.
“Daisy,” I say. “Did you hear me?”
“Yeah…um.” She swats her hair out of her face. “He’s not really the meet-and-greet kind of boyfriend.”
“So basically you’re just fucking him,” Ryke blurts out.
Oh look, his nice moment just passed.
At least, I can forecast that he won’t make a move on Daisy because of her age. I think he’s more likely to run into traffic than hook up with her.
“Not in front of the cameras,” Connor advises.
